Insanity Is The Game
by coleys17
Summary: This is another one of those 'what if' stories where it's John instead of Sherlock in Reichenbach. But what will Sherlock find when John is returned? Nothing he expected. *Warning triggers, drug use, insanity* Though only if readers want me to continue so R
1. Learning To Fly

*I was feeling angst and so I came up with this. My own little 'what if'. Might continue depends on reviews and such so let me know what you guys think!

_Why am I doing this? _

_Why am I going up there?_

John was again going through these questions and still unable to come up with anything. He had to protect his friends, that was the only thing that mattered but why was he going so willingly.

**Meet me on St. Bart's roof - JM**

The message was clear, so John hadn't hesitated in obeying the summons.

**Come play Johnny boy :) but Sherlock isn't invited - JM**

Here he was staring at the tall man in the expensive suit.

"Oh there you are Johnny," Moriarty greeted gesturing for the doctor to move closer, "I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting."

"Not like you gave me a choice," John shot back moving closer. He hated this.

Moriarty laughed "Johnny you know me so well and here I thought you were so normal," he strolled closer to John and circled around him, "but you are more aren't you?" that creepy smile was nauseating.

"I'm not a psycho," the doctor muttered his eyes following Moriarty. The taller man reached out a finger, stroking John's cheek. The doctor flinched receiving a smirk from Moriarty.

"What am I doing here?" John asked glaring.

The other man stopped his movement in front of the doctor. His smile was murderous "Making a point my dear doctor,"

"What point?"

"I made a promise Johnny and one I intend to keep," Moriarty answered turning and walking from John. Automatically the other man followed. Sad to say he was curious knowing Moriarty had something in mind for Sherlock.

"What does that have to do with me?" He didn't care John just wanted this conversation to be over so he could go home.

"Everything Johnny! You see I promised Sherlock that I would burn the heart from him," Moriarty spoke as he stopped just before the roofs edge, "and you, Johnny will be the one to help me do that."

John frowned "Sherlock doesn't have a heart," he snapped. He knew that wasn't true, knew that Sherlock was a good man who tried to hide his emotions. Sherlock was his best friend. The only person in the world he cared about the most and he would do anything for that man.

"Tisk, tisk Johnny no need to lie to me I know Sherlock loves you, I know you are the one that holds his heart." John stared at the man, stunned after hearing that, "at first I didn't see how such an unassuming man could hold Sherlock's attention but I discovered that gorgeous Sherlock broke his own rules sentiment, affection, love. It's a little disappointing but I'm hoping to spice it up." Moriarty said turning to look at John again. He now held a gun aiming it at the other man.

The gun didn't scare John, they never did. He was still stuck on Moriarty's words of Sherlock love.

"Sherlock loves me?" The words came out slow and uncertain.

Moriarty grinned leaning forward on his toes "Silly really but yes. He's madly and absolutely in love with you." John felt the words sink in and they made sense even from the mouth of the psychopath. There were those moments when Sherlock always stood too close, his touches lingering a bit too long, and even when his words came out sentimental.

"Sherlock is in love with me." John spoke with certainty missing the smile widen on Moriarty's face.

"How you didn't know is beyond me Johnny but yes lovely little Sherly self-proclaimed sociopath, asexual virgin is undeniably in love with you." The tall man sat back on his heels.

How had he missed it? Him! The man, who knew and saw how Sherlock worked, why hadn't he seen the signs? People mentioned the changes they saw since John started living and working with the sociopath. Somehow John hadn't noticed a difference or had he been in denial?

"Now this is getting boring!" Moriarty cried snapping John from his revelation, "We have a game to play!" The doctor felt a shiver run through him, sensing he knew where this was leading.

"Come look John," the tall man instructed waving for John.

Hesitating a moment John eyed the other man before moving closer. Looking down the dizzying height to the sidewalk below John forced his eyes to Moriarty.

"See there?" He was pointing to an open window across the street. Squinting the doctor spotted the outline of a man crouched in the opening aiming a sniper rifle on the street below.

"What is this?" John asked feeling a snippet of fear for the pedestrians.

Moriarty nodded towards the road without a word clearly wanting John to look for what he was supposed to be seeing. Sighing John looked again placing his hands on the wall that was the edge of the roof. At first he didn't spot anything, nothing below looked important or familiar.

A cab rounded the street corner and pulled up to the curb letting a tall raven haired man in a black trench stepped out. Glancing to the sniper John watched the man moving the weapon towards the new arrival. His eyes snapped back to the man on the street.

"Sherlock," John whispered fear flooding through him as he watched the tall man ducking back into the cab, probably to pay the fair. "What do you want?" He asked wanting nothing more than to stop Sherlock's death.

"I only want one thing doctor," Moriarty replied sounding like he was having a friendly conversation over tea, "to burn Sherlock's heart. Hurting Sherlock himself would do nothing since his heart is here in front of me so the only way to truly break Sherly is to break you!"

John's stomach dropped as he glanced from Moriarty to Sherlock down on the street all thoughts of going home forgotten.

"You're going to learn to fly doctor!" Moriarty giggled moving until his was closer to John.

"No..."

"Oh Johnny don't get boring now! If you don't learn to fly my snipers will not only kill Sherlock but three others and their blood will be on your hands. The only thing that will stop them is your falling body hitting the pavement." Moriarty watched Sherlock's cab drove off leaving the detective on the sidewalk.

John looked to the sniper and saw the man tense, his gun following Sherlock's every movement.

"Stop, fine. I'll do it...just don't," John said pushing himself on to the wall of the roof's edge.

"Good doctor I knew you would play!" Moriarty sang clapping his hands together excitedly.

"You are sick!" John snapped standing up on the wall.

"You say the nicest things!" The tall man said stepping back from the doctor.

John watched Sherlock who was absorbed in the phone in his hands and hadn't moved from the spot where the cab had dropped him. It was a typical Sherlock pose that it put a lump in John's throat to think about it.

"Can I say goodbye?" It was a small request that seemed unlikely to be allowed. John just couldn't jump without hearing his mad flat mate's voice one more time even if he would breaking the man's heart.

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Slowly John pulled out his phone his hands barely shook as he hurriedly clicked dialing Sherlock's number. The second ring in Sherlock answered "John I'm at Bart's heading in..."

"Sherlock, stop right there! Turn around and go back the way you came." John spoke rapidly wanting the other man away from what was about to happen. He didn't want him to have to watch.

"John what is it? What is going on? Where are you?" Sherlock shot off questions clearly hearing the desperation in the doctor's voice. John watched his friend frozen on the ground below and not looking to be listening. Even when John was about to die did the man listen.

"Look up," he whispered watching Sherlock's head tilt to look up.

"What are you doing on the roof?" There was fear in those words and they hurt John. He wanted so much to put those fears to rest, to assure the man that everything was going to be alright.

"I'm coming up, don't move." Sherlock stated as he started walking towards the hospital.

"No Sherlock! Stop stay there!"

"But John I..."

"Stay there Sherlock keep your eyes fixed on me!" John interrupted his voice firm, throwing a hand out towards his friend as if physically stopping him or reaching for him.

Sherlock stopped walked "John?" The doctor watched his friend's own arm come up as if reaching for him as well.

"Sherlock it's been too much, everything. It was nothing you did of course, its just...its me Sherlock...its always been me." The words were flying out of his mouth as he glanced to see Moriarty's face. It bubbled with excitement and anticipation. John felt sick and turned to look back at his friend.

"This last year with you has been the best of my life and I have to thank you for that. I've never had a friend like you Sherlock and I'm glad I got to know the real you, that I got to see that heart of yours at work."

"John..." his name through the phone was pleading and John felt tears on his face. He could almost hear Sherlock's heart breaking and the confusion whirling in his brain.

"This is my note...isn't that what people do...leave notes..."

"When?"

"I love you Sherlock thank you."

With that John dropped the phone letting it slide through his fingers and fall down to the sidewalk.

"Do it now Johnny while the drama is still fresh." Moriarty pressed, "Fly little hedgehog, fly!"

John kept his face down at the street below, looking Sherlock over on last time before throwing his arms out and stepped from the roof, closing his eyes.


	2. Miracle

*So thanks to a very attentive follower of mine I came up with this heart wrenching scene. Hope you guys enjoy, especially you Truly Sherlockian!

"I've gotten them all John," Sherlock spoke slowly, staring at the headstone, the headstone that had replaced the skull on the mantle. The hard white marble with the dark lettering, each letter spelling out his name, Sherlock's body froze whenever he saw the name engraved in the stone but he couldn't stay away. He had stayed away long enough while he hunted down John's killer.

"The last two years I've been tracking them all down…for you." The tall man told the marble feeling the emptiness starting to creep in. That emptiness brought on the familiar anger that always seemed to flare out of nowhere.

"Why John, why couldn't you wait? Why couldn't you let me help you?" Sherlock hissed at the grave.

Of course there was no answer which made him even angrier, "John I could have saved you! I could have stopped him but then you went and jumped! I spent the last two years searching for him but for what? What will I get at the end of all of this?" Sherlock yelled at the stone, "Will I get you back, will you somehow not be dead? Can you do that for me? One last miracle Dr. Watson…don't be dead…" the rage left him as swiftly as it had come bringing on the tears, the self-loathing.

Sherlock fell to his knees before the plot, eyes fixed on the name "I should have listened John. I should have left Moriarty alone…but I was selfish," the wet grass under his knees was starting to soak through but Sherlock didn't care, "It's my fault…it's all my fault that you are…that you fell…I killed you…" the emotion was thick in his voice.

_I love you Sherlock…_

After John jumped Sherlock had fallen apart hearing those words echoing through every waking moment. No amount of drugs or alcohol dimmed the noise, nothing quailed the ghost of John's final confession. Sherlock never had the courage to say those words to his doctor, he never got the chance.

"I love you John…I never got to tell you. There were so many moments I could have…and…I didn't. I missed out on you…I lost the best part of me, I lost something I never had, something I wanted…please John, please don't be dead." Sherlock was sobbing now. This was his familiar plea, the one thing he always asked, and the one thing that was never granted.

Sherlock crawled over until he was sitting next to the marble "You saved me so many times John and I never thanked you…I never showed you how much you really meant to me…I was too late…"

Leaning against the stone, Sherlock pressed his forehead into it watching again as John's small body fell through the air. Sherlock didn't see the doctor's body make it to the ground but he could swear he heard it, heard the crack of bone slamming into unrelenting pavement. He had screamed John's name he remembered, the name ripping from his vocal chords rushing to catch his falling love but nothing could stop that.

Sherlock had rushed forward only to find John's body broken on the cement. Blood seeped everywhere seeming brighter on the overcast day. People had started to gather around but Sherlock pushed them aside, falling beside his unmoving friend. Tears rolling down his face, Sherlock reached out grabbing up John's limp limb. He searched for a pulse, searched for the life that should have been beating against his fingers.

There was nothing.

Several long moments of shocked disbelief before Sherlock was pulled away from the lifeless John, his protests and pleas ignored. He watched helplessly as his doctor was taken away, the blood on the sidewalk the only indication he had been there.

"I tried to erase you…" Sherlock murmured to the marble, "I was hurting so much…I…I thought it might be better to take you out of my mind…but…I couldn't take out a part of me…John you weaved your very being into my soul…and…I couldn't…"

Sherlock's mind palace was nothing but John. Every moment spent with the doctor frozen in time, every piece of information about the man carved into the walls. Sherlock poured over it, obsessed, and addicted, fearing that it might start to fade, that it too would fall.

"He's the only one who is left John…Moriarty…he's the only one and I'm going to make him pay for taking you from me…he burned the heart from me but I've done much worse…I've ripped away his power, his control." Sherlock told the stone, stroking the cool surface slowly, "I've taken the one thing James has ever cared about…like he did to me…"

Two years of running all over Europe, ripping up Moriarty's roots, following him from continent to continent, and chasing him until he finally returned to London. Moriarty thought he was safe here. How wrong he was, Sherlock was going to end it. London was Sherlock's life blood and everything about it beat only with the man's will. He was going to cut James off, Sherlock had become death and Moriarty would finally be the one burning.

"When he's finally gone…I will be able to rest…I'll be able to see you again…" Sherlock spoke pulling the gun from his waist band.

John's gun, the one he had shot the cabbie with. "I'll come see you John, and then I can tell you…everything." Sherlock stared at the weapon fighting the temptation to use it now.

_We're not done yet._

A voice purred stilling the strong urge. Sherlock often heard these voices and when he was lucky John would make an appearance. His voice would bring Sherlock to his knees hanging onto ever word. John always spoke gently, in a tone he had often used on Sherlock when the younger man was bored.

"How did you do it John? How did you stand everyday with me?" Sherlock had asked this quiet often, "How did you find it in your heart to love me? I was a beast, something so unlovable…but you…you found a way to love me…you saved me…you said you got to see my heart…you thanked me for letting you see my heart at work…"

Sherlock didn't even need to conjure up his mind palace to remember the words that John had spoken through the phone. He mesmerized every syllable, every breath and emotion that had been relayed to him. At the time Sherlock's eyes had focused on John's form balanced on the roof. There wasn't much he could deduce from the large distance but he knew that something was wrong and how it was going to end.

Sherlock had been going to find his doctor after receiving evidence that Rich Brook didn't exist and Moriarty was at large in London. Seeing John's small form dwarfed by the distance Sherlock's heart had dropped. The next few minutes had gone by too quickly and then John's body was rushing towards the ground.

_JOHN!_

Millions of times Sherlock had gone over the scene, had tried to think of any way he could have saved John or could have changed the events. He never could come up with anything feasible, his mind was always muddled with the emotions that the moment evoked.

_Why couldn't it have been me?!_

Sherlock had processed this. If he had been the one jumping, he would have known before hand and would have found a way to survive, found a way to trick Moriarty.

What did it matter? Thinking like this wouldn't change it. There was no button in life that let you go back and change things. Sherlock had truly lost his doctor.


	3. Burning Hearts

*Be prepared for more feels! Thanks Truly Sherlockian, your reviews are always heart warming! ***Warning: triggers and attempted suicide***

_He was here! He was close. _

Sherlock could almost smell Moriarty, could almost see his life flowing out of him in a red pool. It was somewhat of a premonition and Sherlock's body quivered in anticipation. The cool plastic of the gun pressed against his back seemed to vibrate with the knowledge of an incoming treat.

_Soon_

It had taken a few weeks after arriving in London to track down Jim but Sherlock knew that he would find the psycho. Without Mycroft or Lestrade's help he found the man. James Moriarty consulting criminal would die tonight and so would Sherlock. The warehouse Moriarty had chosen to die in was a cliché and Sherlock had almost snorted at the simplicity.

_How normal!_

Sherlock scoffed but he knew Moriarty better than that. James had finally accepted his death and was waiting for the noose. Sherlock would give into that pleasure and gladly make the man into a corpse.

Pushing deeper into the warehouse Sherlock locked eyes on a lit room not far from him. Sherlock had expected a little more theatrics from Moriarty and was a little disappointed. James was an actor! Where was the flash, the dazzle? Shaking his head lightly Sherlock cleared his mind. He wanted to relish in this victory he was about to fulfill.

_I've got him John. _

Sherlock thought sadly wanting John's voice to appear. It didn't so the tall man let out a heavy sigh and walked the remaining feet into the lit room.

"Sherlock," James greeted looking haggard but excited.

Sherlock didn't speak as he stalked closer to his target. At last! Two long years! Here he was! The consulting criminal, the homicidal psychopath,

_The one who took John from me,_

"Are you still on about that?" Moriarty asked exasperated as if reading Sherlock's thoughts, "it's been two years, John's gone! Get over it!" Sherlock wanted to draw the gun but refrained. He wasn't satisfied just yet, didn't want to make it end too quickly.

"Have you finally accepted your fate?" The words slipped out of Sherlock's mouth.

James smirked "Fate? No I don't believe in fate but have I accepted you as Death? Then yes, playing hide and seek with you Sherlock had been fun but it's grown boring." He examined his nails lazily.

Sherlock looked over the criminal and saw just how far Moriarty had fallen. Dirt, grim, and dried blood coated the expensive Westwood with little rips and tears. His hair disheveled and dark bruise like bags hung under his eyes. Deep wrinkles creased little spots on his face making him look older than the thirty plus years he actually was.

"You look terrible," Sherlock said with a dry chuckle, "if only your Sebastian could see you now." It was a low hit but effective. James froze, his smile fell and a flicker of pain rushed through his body but disappeared quickly.

Sherlock had taken a lot of pleasure in ending Moriarty's best sniper Sebastian Moran who was also James's secret lover. The man's death had been the final straw in Moriarty and had led to this climax.

"Seb would appreciate your determination," James said slowly as a grin stretched across his face. "So Sherlock how do you like it?" Moriarty asked gesturing to the room. Sherlock took the time to glance but the barren room was sad.

"Not your usual style,"

James chuckled "Usual is boring. I wanted to keep you on your toes one last time. What a better place to die than in an unpredictable location, adds a little spice don't you think." Sherlock didn't answer as he drew his gun.

Moriarty chuckled seeing the weapon "That his?" Again Sherlock didn't reply, "Still hurts doesn't it? The knowing you missed out. That poor little sociopath Sherly truly did have a heart and it burned before his eyes," James's smiled widened, "what were his last words? I love you. How poetic! Certainly my favorite thing your hedgehog ever said and how beautifully he flew, such vivid colors!" Moriarty stepped closer.

"The best part was the look on your face," He whispered, "I have never seen such a broken look on a man, I almost felt bad but then again you didn't listen." The words were bringing up the familiar flare of guilt Sherlock felt because James was right, it was his fault. "I warned you and you persisted. John warned you and you persisted. Look how it turned out, tonight we'll both die and no one can fake that."

Sherlock aimed the gun. Moriarty pressed forward, pushing his forehead against the barrel. His eyes locked on Sherlock's "This was a fantastic game Sherlock it was the most fun I've had in years." The smile on James's face spoke volumes of something more but Sherlock couldn't read it, "Burning your heart, watching your pet fly! Even seeing you squirm was an honor but in the end I still win," clearly expecting those to be the last words.

Sherlock stared at the man for a moment before shaking his head slowly "You still think of this as a game James even after all these years." The shining eyes of the psychopath held triumph, "It was a game in the beginning but then you killed John and it became something more. At the end of this no one wins." And with that he pulled the trigger.

Sherlock didn't hear the gun go off his ears were deafened by white noise but he watched in slow motion as the bullet created a new hole in Moriarty's head. A spray of blood misted out as the bullet exited, the force of the shot pushed James's body back. Eyes now vacant stared into Sherlock's until the corpse collapsed at his feet. The tall man looked down at the body, blood pooling around the head.

Moriarty was dead. Truly dead, there was no doubt with the evidence at Sherlock's feet. Staring at the body he felt nothing…absolutely nothing. Sherlock was empty, his only reason for living with now lifeless at his feet. Without a thought Sherlock screamed, he screamed until the sound ripped his throat and he lost the ability to stand, falling to his knees. He wanted to feel a spark of life but even the agony of the noise did nothing for him.

John had been the only thing that had kept Sherlock alive and after his death it had been the drive to destroy Moriarty. Sherlock looked over the cooling body, the man that had been his greatest downfall, dead. Numbed Sherlock pulled the gun to his temple "What better place," he mumbled scanning the body once more preparing to pull the trigger.

A paper sticking out of Jim's pocket stopped Sherlock. The brightness of the paper stuck out against the contrast of the blood and Sherlock was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. Looking to Moriarty's vacant face, Sherlock knew this was the last thing the man had done. He wanted Sherlock to find this paper. Even in death James wouldn't let the game end, not without his say.

Sherlock wanted to fight the curiosity but the paper was Moriarty's final act and it was significant. Sighing the tall man lowered the gun as he reached for the paper not caring that blood was seeping through his pant legs. Snagging the paper Sherlock pushed himself to his feet. It was a small folded piece of paper with his name on it. Sliding the gun back into the waist band of his trousers Sherlock unfolded the paper:

**Your heart still burns.**

The simple words glared at him and Sherlock blinked at them. This was the message Moriarty thought needed to be passed on after his death. These four short words that left so much mystery, what a joke Sherlock snorted but continued to stare at the words. The vibrating of his phone distracted Sherlock for a moment. Without taking his eyes from the words he pulled out the phone.

There was a text from Moriarty. Sherlock glanced from the screen to the body at his feet.

_Must have had it timed to be sent._

Clicking the message open he found an address so there was more to the words. The address was another warehouse not far from where he was at. Now he just had to decide if he wanted to postpone his suicide to go and see what James thought was important enough to pass on.

_Do you want to die without knowing?_

That voice! It was John's, Sherlock nearly burst with the flare of emotion, the life he had been seeking.

_You wouldn't want to leave before knowing._

The familiar voice of the doctor melted Sherlock he could almost smell John's scent, leather and book paper. The scent so inviting and comforting Sherlock forgot about the world for a second.

_Go on Sherlock, go see._

The John voice encouraged and Sherlock longing to feel the warmth of the man's hands touching him even with a brush of a finger. The touch didn't come but Sherlock held a new determination to do as the voice said. Without another look at the corpse Sherlock left the warehouse.

Everything was quiet not even the noise from distant cars could be heard. Sherlock strolled between the clusters of warehouses. The night was crisp with the coming winter and the sky was clear, shining brightly with millions of stars.

_Beautiful night to die,_

Sherlock thought sadly wishing John's voice would speak again, but it didn't. Sighing he pressed on for the warehouse. When he found it, Sherlock paused a moment to take it in. Compared to the others it was small, nearly twice the size smaller than its neighbors.

Moving forward Sherlock found a door and kicked it open not bothering to even see if it was unlocked. The inside was dark and forced Sherlock to find the small torch that he kept on him for moments like these. Scanning the room with his light Sherlock noted the main room was split into two sections by a few short walls.

Going further inside Sherlock searched the first two rooms but they were empty. Finding a third door Sherlock tired it but found it was locked, that irritated him. Standing back from the door Sherlock kicked, the door barely budged. Glaring at the wood, he tried again. The door moved a bit but didn't open. Balling his fists Sherlock kicked a third time sending the door flying from its hinges.

Walking inside the room Sherlock froze. There was a man inside strapped to a vertical bedframe. The upper half of the man was shirtless, wires and tubes tangled around the man's body. Old and new scars littered his chest but the face…the face was left unchanged. The familiar features filled Sherlock's eyes.

"John?"

*Didn't see that coming did you? Review please and if you guys have any suggestions I'm open to them! Thanks for reading!


	4. Resurrection

"John." Sherlock spoke again his voice echoing in the empty room.

The small doctor didn't answer.

"John!" the force of the other man's name exploded from Sherlock and a part of him broke free.

_It's John!_

_ John is dead!_

_It can't be!_

_ We saw…_

_We watched…_

_ Dead!_

_Alive?_

Voice, upon voice swirled in a buzz through Sherlock's mind as he tried to grip on to reality.

Was the doctor really here? Eyes fixed on the suspended man Sherlock stepped closer until he could smell the sweat and blood on John. Reaching out Sherlock's fingers brushed the warm skin of someone who was very much alive. Still uncertain Sherlock touched the exposed wrist and waited for the pulse he had searched for over two years ago.

There it was strong and beating.

How? How was this happening? How was this possible? Sherlock was fighting the urge to scream again. He had checked for a pulse, a pulse that wasn't there but now it was!

"John," Sherlock tired quietly reaching to touch the doctor's slackened face.

John didn't respond. He was breathing lightly as in sleep.

Sherlock's eye drifted over the heart monitor strapped of the man and the I.V. that was slowly pumping a clear liquid into John's vein. He wanted to pull John down but didn't want to hurt him. Sherlock pulled out his phone instead and called the first number he could think of.

"Sherlock, where are you? What's wrong?" the frantic voice of Lestrade greeted.

Sherlock grimaced, "Lestrade I need help," He spoke his voice sounding grave and emotionless, "and I need an ambulance."

"What?! Are you hurt? Where are you?" the D.I. shouted over the phone.

Fighting the rising anger and focusing on helping John, Sherlock kept himself calm. "Warehouse five, hurry please." He hung up, tossing the phone behind him.

Sherlock walked around the bed frame supporting the doctor, looking for some clues of something. He wasn't sure maybe something to tell him how John survived. Nothing stuck out and only John occupied the room so Sherlock moved to face the sleeping man again.

He looked older, more wrinkles with more grey laced through the blonde. Scanning down over the naked chest Sherlock winced, the scars were all over, crisscrossing making the skin looked scaly.

"John," Sherlock spoke gently touching the other man's face.

Whatever the doctor had in his system it had a tight hold and John continued to sleep without a hint of waking anytime soon.

Stroking the doctor's face for a moment Sherlock realized he felt scared. He was terrified that this was some sort of trick, something Moriarty had cooked up. Sherlock eyed the John before him. It looked like John in every way. The tall man had studied the doctor's face a thousand times, yet Sherlock still had doubts. Leaning forward and stretching up on his tippy toes Sherlock took a deep sniff of John's hair.

_Leather and book pages!_

Only John smelled like that.

Sherlock smiled. "John," he whispered wishing the man would open his eyes.

Some minutes went by and Sherlock could do nothing but stare, keeping an eye on the slow rise and fall of John's chest. What would happen when the doctor woke up? Would he be the same gentle and caring man or had the years with Moriarty robbed Sherlock of that man? Sherlock's eyes drifted over the scars. What had Moriarty done to John? How had he broken the ex-soldier?

_How did John survive?_

That would the first question Sherlock would ask John. Molly had done his autopsy to confirm, had she gotten it wrong somehow? Sherlock shook his head Molly wasn't as idiotic as most people and she knew John.

What had Moriarty done?

The swirling unanswered questions were frustrating so Sherlock locked his gaze on John's face and settled into wait.

He didn't have to wait more than five minutes before a squad of police officers from Scotland Yard burst into the room. When they announced the room with clear Lestrade marched inside followed by Mycroft. Seeing his brother trailing after the D.I. wasn't a surprise to Sherlock. He knew they were sleeping together but he didn't bother with that.

Lestrade froze when he saw John his face contorting in stunned surprise and pain.

Mycroft wasn't as visible with his shock by the doctor. He managed to keep his face a mask narrowing his eyes when he directed them to Sherlock. Stalking around the statue that Lestrade had become, the eldest Holmes approached.

"What is this?" he scoffed, "Is this a trick, some morbid prank?" Mycroft usual calm domineer slipped as he spoke nearly spitting in rage, glancing at Lestrade with worry.

Sherlock didn't take his eyes from John, "No." he answered. Why would Sherlock do that? Who would even think he would do that? Trick people with something like this, no.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade breathed.

The anguish in the man's voice startled Sherlock and made him look at the D.I. Lestrade was staring at John in disbelief. Moving from the unconscious man Sherlock went to Lestrade and grasped his shoulders.

"Greg, where is the ambulance I ask for?" Sherlock asked but the D.I. blinked at him slowly, "Lestrade!" he snapped Greg jerked before focusing on Sherlock, "Ambulance?" the taller man repeated.

"The team is standing by outside," Lestrade answered quietly his eyes going back to John.

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft for help but the older Holmes was examining John. Sighing the consulting detective decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Greg, listen to me," Sherlock said grabbing the other man's attention, "Go get them so we can get John to a hospital." He instructed.

"Hospital?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock resisted the urge to strike the D.I. "Yes John needs a doctor." He told Greg gently.

The detective just started and Mycroft decided at that moment to approach, "Come dear," the elder Holmes coaxed tugging gently on Greg's arm. It took a few light tugs before the two were out of the room.

Sherlock faced the unconscious doctor and waited.

Within minutes people bustled into the room and began working on pulling John from the bed frame. Paramedics stood by until the doctor was lowered on to a gurney, they then rushed forward checking vitals and looking over the man's scarred body.

Sherlock followed as John was wheeled out of the warehouse into a nearby ambulance. Without a word the detective climbed into the back. He spotted Lestrade and Mycroft watching from a car.

The elder Holmes was whispering into the D.I.'s ear but Lestrade didn't seem to be paying attention as his eyes locked on the still form of John. The ambulance doors were snapped closed, blocking their view and it began to speed away.

Sherlock turned his eyes to John, glancing at the paramedic's as they constantly checked the man over.

"Who would do something like this?" one of the paramedic's asked gingerly touching a few of the scars striped across John's chest.

"A monster," Sherlock breathed.

His hate for Moriarty had vanished. The man had ruined everything and had taken John from Sherlock, making him the monster but the same man had returned the doctor. Why? Why had James, who had gone through so much trouble in destroying Sherlock, granted the only wish the consulting detective had ever had? Moriarty had known he was teetering over the edge of Hell's gates but his last act was to resurrect John. It perplexed Sherlock.

Shaking his head, Sherlock forced those thoughts back. There was plenty of time for pondering, at the moment he needed to focus on John.

At that moment as if on cue a low moan came from the doctor, everyone in the ambulance froze. Sherlock held his breath, staring at his friend.

Slowly John's eye lids twitched before opening. Dark blue irises peaked between the lashes. The lids slid further open revealing more of the familiar storm color beneath. Sherlock slowly released his breath, leaning in. John's eyes drifted over to him but they were unfocused.

"John," Sherlock whispered reaching out a shaking hand. Slowly his fingers stroked the greying blonde and the doctor's eyes started to focus. "Can you hear me?"

John's lips parted slightly as he blinked at Sherlock. Moments dragged by and the two stared at each other. Sherlock stroked slowly, drawing the strands through his fingers. John's eyes flashed with recognition and a small smile creased his mouth.

"Sher…lock…"

His name was drawn out and sounded weak from a voice that was clearly underused but it was music. Sherlock felt hot tears running down his face and a smile formed. His John was here! His John was alive!

Suddenly the machines started beeping hysterically and John's eyes rolled back showing white, his body began convulsing. Startled, Sherlock couldn't move until a paramedic pulled him back.

"He's going into shock!" One of them shouted and an oxygen mask was forced over the doctor's contorted face. They then rolled him on to his side but nothing else was done.

Even in all the madness Sherlock understood John was going through a shock induced seizure and there wasn't much the paramedics could do until it passed. It was in that moment the ambulance pulled into the hospital, the doors were thrown open and the gurney was pulled out.

People rushed from the doors and raced John from the ambulance towards the hospital. Sherlock could barely keep up, thankfully his long legs helped. The group headed for the elevator and he slipped in. The paramedics were rattling off and the doctors listened intently as nurses fussed over John's still seizing form.

As soon as the lift's doors opened the people spilled from it running for the I.C.U. A nurse broke from the crowd and stepped in front of Sherlock. The taller man skidded to a stop, watching as John disappeared between the swing double doors.

"I'm sorry sir but you can't go back there." The nurse spoke sternly but Sherlock ignored her, stepped around, and stalking for the doors.

The nurse ran after him "Sir! Sir you can't go back there!" she shouted.

Sherlock spun to face her, "I WILL NOT LEAVE HIM ALONE AGAIN!" He roared.

The woman fell back, her eyes wide and fearful. When she didn't move or speak Sherlock turned away from her and preceded through the double doors.

It was easy to find where they had taken John as people rushed to the room. Sherlock couldn't get into the room that was packed with doctors but he could watch from the window. It was hard to see John amongst the writhing bodies but what Sherlock could see was a relief.

John was no longer convulsing and lay still in the bed, the slow rise and fall of his chest was a good sign. Tubes and wires were strapped to his arms and a hospital gown was in the process of being tied on.

"Sir," a voice called, Sherlock turned a glare to the speaker daring them to try and force him from John.

The woman took the glare being older and used to the unwillingness of visitors, "He's going to be fine." She told him. Sherlock blinked slowly at her, "His system is in shock at the moment. It seems he was on some powerful drugs for a while and he will be going through some violent withdrawal in the next few days. We've taken a sample of blood from him and we'll have it tested to find out what exactly he had but right now all we can do is wait"

Sherlock frowned. All he could was wait…wait…That's the only thing he had been doing for the past two years. Glancing over at John, he saw that most of the room had cleared.

"I won't leave him." Sherlock told the nurse, she only nodded. Moving passed her and over to John's side.


	5. Waking Dream

*Hey guys! I'm really glad everyone is enjoying this! The feedback is fantastic and it makes me want to keep writing! So thank you everyone! Truly Sherlockian, you are my rock and I love you! Here we go with John's POV:

John remembered falling, it was the only dream he ever remembered. It wasn't a good dream or a bad dream, it just was. It was the only dream he ever had and it always started the same.

Always on the same roof, he didn't remember the building just the roof. The place felt familiar and brought on a feeling of falling that always left him breathless. He knew it was a tall building whenever he stood on the edge and looked down the distance stretched and spun as if the world wanted him to fall.

And there was always that voice, his voice.

"Fly little hedgehog, fly!"

John didn't remember the man's name or his face just the sing song of his voice. When he looked around there was no one but the phantom voice always came.

It was then John would look down on the street. It was empty at first. It always started out empty. Then a man would appear, a faceless man but at that distance everyone was faceless. To John the man was a distant dot clad in black.

"I love you."

Those words echoed around him and then he was falling. John felt the air speeding passed him as he headed for the ground and heard the scream from the faceless man.

"JOHN!"

The sound was anguish and true suffering but he felt nothing for the man's pain.

Blackness over took him and John fell into white noise. The static repetition was a warm cocoon until the darkness was ripped away.

Dream John always woke up gasping with pain radiating from everywhere and the sing song voice would speak:

"Lovely little hedgehog awake and not dead. His heart still beats and I hold it in my hands."

If it was poetry it was terrible but dream John always felt panic and confusion. Every cell in his body screamed at him that he was dead but the painful intake of oxygen told him otherwise. Dead men don't breath.

Blurred visions of figures moving around him appeared weaving in and out of clarity but all still unknown.

John always found a way to speak:

"How?"

It was the one word he could manage that was so general it could be answered with anything but the sing song man always knew the bigger question.

"Because I wanted to."

To John it answered a lot of questions while creating more. The sing song man wanted John alive so he made it so but why? For what reason? The man wanted someone or multiple someone's to think John was dead but again why?

Dream John would quickly become tired of the back and forth so he would wait for the dream to change. He didn't have to wait long.

Suddenly he was spinning and it always surprised him no matter how many times he had the dream. Voices began speaking adding on to each other before hundreds of incoherent words meddle into a harsh buzz.

At that point John felt like he was drowning. He felt the wet, cool water wash over him slowly rising around his body. The voices became muffled almost silenced by the water around his ears.

Then came the pain, it only came when John neared consciousness. Long, deep agony that stretched over his chest or over his back while someone spoke most of the time it was the sing song man other times it was a woman. The excoriating pain always forced his mind to go blank.

But this time it was different. When the fog of the dream started to drift no pain came, no sing song man just the low moan of his own voice. John couldn't remember the last time he heard his voice it was unfamiliar and sounded weak.

The distant sounds of machines and breathing came to him and it was confusing. John couldn't remember the last time he was so clear and it scared him.

Emboldened by the sensation John opened his eyes. A multitude of colors assaulted his underused eyes and it was nearing painful but John didn't want the darkness anymore and forced his eyes to adjust.

"John,"

There was that voice. Not the sing song man but the faceless one. Cool hands started stroking his hair and the touch was welcomed it anchored John to the moment and things began to clear. Straining John turned his eyes to a blurred face that was hovering overhead. The faceless features slowly morphed into a face, a man's face. For a moment it was unfamiliar but suddenly his name flew to John's mind.

"Sher...lock..."

That was it, Sherlock! John knew him and that's when memories started attacking. Images and voices swirled together. John felt nauseous and he couldn't follow the on slaughter of thoughts. Everything was moving too fast, it was a swirling vortex of information and John's mind was going into overload.

The machines nearby starting beeping loudly and pain washed through John. It was a white hot agony that didn't slow the flow of memoires that were pouring over him. A life time of moments filled John but none were clear, there were too many. He teetered over the edge of nothingness, fighting to remain conscious but the overwhelming sensation forced him into darkness.

John's ears were still tuned into what was going on around him. People talking while sounding urgent assaulted his hearing like the memories there were too many voices to make out any words. John wanted to open his eyes again wanted to see the face of Sherlock but his body was unwilling.

Suddenly the voices were gone, the swirling attack of memories was gone, the silence was a bit eerie and John strained to hear something, anything! Machines and quiet beeps near his head came first, the slight noise started to loll him towards sleep but John shock off the black veil seeking more noise, a human noise.

_Did Sherlock leave me?_

"I won't leave him…"

The words were so quiet John almost missed them. They came from Sherlock's baritone and they were close. John wanted to open his eyes but his body was winning in taking him back in full unconsciousness. Without another thought John was reclaimed by the darkness.

*Reviews are always welcomed, I love hearing from you guys!


	6. Waiting

*I have such plans for this little fic and I hope everyone is enjoying it enough to stick around! I would like to thank everyone for leaving reviews, I love you, you guys are fantastic! Thanks again and enjoy!

Sherlock watched over John without moving a muscle. He wouldn't allow his eyes to leave the doctor's face even when they had begun to sting for being open too long. Sherlock didn't know what times it was or how long he had been in the hospital and he really didn't care.

His mind had been wandering over the hours, spending most of the time in his mind palace rearranging it. The comings and goings of doctors and nurses was ignored and it wasn't until Lestrade and Mycroft showed up that Sherlock fully acknowledged someone.

A few minutes after the D.I. entered the room is when Sherlock became aware of the lingering presences. Blinking several times he turned and spotted Lestrade hovering in the door way with Mycroft slightly behind.

Greg looked absolutely terrible. Dark purple bags rimmed his blood-shot eyes. A horrid, scraggly five-o'clock shadow covered his face and his hair stuck up at all angles. Lestrade's clothes were no better. The once pressed suit he wore was now in shambles. Various stains covered the dull white shirt that had come untucked from the D.I.'s trousers. Mud and other substances darkened the grey of a majority of the suit.

Greg was frozen in the door eyes fixed on John's unmoving form.

Sherlock stood as he turned his eyes on his brother and gestured towards the now vacant chair.

Mycroft seemed to get the message as he squeezed around Lestrade. "Come my dear let's get you settled." He mumbled gently grasping Greg's upper arm and guiding him forward.

The D.I. didn't struggle and allowed himself to be directed. He sat willingly and even leaned forward to grip John's slackened hand.

Sherlock and Mycroft paused to overlook the scene before them. The elder Holmes looked to his brother and wordlessly nodded towards the door and went that way. Sherlock followed glancing over his shoulder to the two behind him feeling slightly worried in leaving John.

Once in the hall Mycroft stopped a few feet from the room but they were still able to see John on the bed from the observation window. Sherlock noted the lack of activity in the hall and deduced it was the early hours of the morning.

"How is he?" Mycroft asked looking nervously at John.

Sherlock sighed, "I am told he has been heavily drugged for some time and he is likely to make a full recovery. When we arrived they sent out for a blood test to know what exactly he had in his system. He woke briefly during the ambulance ride,"

Mycroft gave a small smile when he heard that.

"His body then went into shock and caused a seizure."

The smile was now gone but Sherlock continued struggling with every word.

"So far he hasn't woken and I was warned he'll be going through withdrawals…" His voice failed him and he breathed in sharply to keep his brimming tears at bay.

Mycroft shifted closer to his brother seeming in hopes that his presences will bring a bit of comfort. "How did you find John?" the elder Holmes asked.

Sherlock pulled Moriarty's note from his pocket, "I killed Moriarty earlier." He whispered holding the paper out.

Mycroft stiffened and stared wide eyed before forcing his hand to grab the paper. "Your heart still burns?" he read.

"I pulled that note from Moriarty's pocket after I killed him then a text message arrived on my phone giving me the address to the warehouse." Sherlock finished deliberately leaving out the suicide part.

Mycroft may try to deny sentiment but when it came to Sherlock…he is a sentimental fool and him knowing what the younger Holmes had been planning would have been a disaster. Sherlock wouldn't live it down if Mycroft knew.

"How is this happening?" The elder Holmes asked his voice was quiet and uncertain. In a way it was almost childlike and surprised the younger brother. He had never heard Mycroft sound so human.

Sherlock looked hard at his brother, "I don't know but I intend to find out."

"And how do you plan to do that brother mine, you killed the only one who had the answers?"

"Not the only one brother," Sherlock corrected looking over at John.

Mycroft followed his gaze settling on the unconscious man, "You think he will have the answers?"

"Indeed I do," Sherlock said as he started back to John's room, "John Watson is the man with the answers."

When the two brothers reentered the room, Lestrade looking much better, turned and eyed them. "I touched his hand and the heart monitor jumped." He happily said adding a small smile.

Sherlock managed a smile on the D.I.'s behalf and even saw Mycroft's mouth twitch. Strolling closer Sherlock planting his hands on Greg's shoulders and looked at John, "I think you may have help in the healing process."

Lestrade chuckled shaking the younger's man hands from him. "Don't be ridiculous." He said breaking out with a loud yawn.

"Greg, why don't you let Mycroft take you home, you've had a long day and I'll be here for John?" Sherlock suggested getting a protesting look from the D.I. "Don't worry I'll call you if anything changes."

Reluctantly Lestrade stood, slowly, "What about Moriarty, should we be worried about him?"

The question was so sudden that Sherlock barely held back a gasp luckily Mycroft was much more aware.

"Don't worry about that my dear we have people watching nothing will happen to the good doctor."

Greg was satisfied with that answer and made his way to the waiting arms of the eldest Holmes. He wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist and settled his head on the other man's shoulder.

"Do get some sleep brother." Mycroft threw over his shoulder as the two left the room.

Sherlock watched them go having intention of sleeping whilst John was. Settling back into his chair the younger man took up the hand Greg had left stroking the slightly darker skin and looked to the doctor's face.

John's eyes twitched rhythmically behind his closed lids. The heart monitor continued relying the regular heart beat with no sign of the man waking. The repetition of the fans from the machines and the quiet beeps from the monitor Sherlock felt himself starting to doze.

"No." he snapped.

He won't sleep. He couldn't sleep not when he had to watch John. Sherlock was afraid that if closed his eyes, he would wake up and everything that had happen wasn't real. That it was a trick of his mind. Sherlock couldn't go through that, he didn't want to lose John all over again. It was a ridiculous notion but the younger man couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise.

Tightening his hold on John's hand Sherlock ducked his head to kiss the soft flesh. "Where are you John?" he asked laying his cheek on the back of the other man's hand and looking up at his face.

Sherlock didn't mean to. He really didn't, one minute he's looking at John in the hospital bed the next he was startled awake by people frantically shouting. For a moment Sherlock is disoriented and can't remember where he is. People are talking to him and around him, making it that much harder to focus.

"Would everyone just shut up?" He grumbled running a hand through his hair.

The voices didn't cease but they weren't directed at him anymore.

Sherlock stretched his arms and twisted his back to get a satisfying pop before he was truly awake. His eyes went straight for John. But John wasn't on the bed anymore. The crisp white hospital sheets were empty!

Sherlock shot from his seat, "Where is he?" he hissed at the nearest doctor, grabbing the man by the shirt.

The doctor looked terrified but remained calm as he answered, "That's what we're trying to figure out Mr. Holmes."

Throwing the doctor from him, Sherlock turned to the bed and stalked closer.

John had woken and left the room, somehow without waking the younger man in the process. Touching the sheets, Sherlock noted they were nearing room temperature. So John had left sometime in the last thirty minutes or so. Sherlock hoped the doctor hadn't left the hospital but something told him he hadn't and an thought sprung to mind.

In the entire world where would John go if he were stuck in this hospital, this particular hospital?

Without telling anyone Sherlock darted from the room heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time forcing his body to move faster. He needed to go down a floor, that's where it was.

Once on the floor Sherlock sprinted through the halls, he ignored the angry shouts of people he'd nearly ran into looking for the exact room. It wasn't hard to find and Sherlock didn't spare a second before opening the door.

"John!" He shouted looking around the room.

It was the lab where they had met. The first time they had interacted but he wasn't here. John wasn't in the lab and Sherlock heart sank. If the little doctor wasn't here there was only one other place he could be.

Racing from the room Sherlock headed back for the stairs as a pain radiated through him. He felt like he was on fire and it wasn't just from running. This pain was something more, it was dread.

Once again on the stairs Sherlock started going up. He was all the way up. Sherlock was breathing heavily and his body started to feel a hundred times heavier but he pushed.

At the top, Sherlock grabbed the roof access door and wasn't surprised it wasn't locked though he was mildly surprised to find it had been picked not forced. Pushing it open he scanned the area and froze when his eyes found John.

The small army doctor had his back to Sherlock, the sun silhouetted his form making him a dark shadow. A slight cold breeze played with the doctor's hospital gown as he stood on the edge of the roof in the exact spot he had jumped from two years prior.

*I am a terrible person (evil laugh)

Review please


	7. Triggers

*I had such a hard time writing this chapter and I still feel like it didn't capture what I was hoping for so sorry in advance if this isn't how you feel it should be going.

Sherlock's heart was nearly beating out of his chest as he looked at John before him. The doctor was teetering on the buildings edge and he seemed to be muttering quietly to himself. Forcing himself to move, Sherlock drew closer not wanting to startle John. As he got nearer a few words were heard from the doctor:

"Flying hedgehog…silly little otter… Daddy, please…"

"John." Sherlock called softly.

The doctor stiffened before looking back. The look in his eyes was something Sherlock had never seen. They were wild and unfocused, John's whole body fidgeted.

Seeing him, John's face became a wide smile before a loud hysterical laugh broke out. The small body turned complete towards Sherlock but the man didn't leave the roofs edge.

"There you are!" John shouted throwing his hands at Sherlock, "I knew you would come."

"Yes John, I am here, now come from there." Sherlock tried forcing a smile to encourage his friend and holding out a hand towards him.

John frowned and even glared, folding his arms over his chest. "But I like it here," His voice whined taking on the characteristics of a child, with that John turned back to look down over the side, "This is where it happened."

Sherlock froze when those words floated to him.

"This is where the hedgehog learned to fly!" John spoke happily moving back to face Sherlock, "This is where the story ended."

Sherlock stared hard at John. The doctor was a completely different person. The man's face held no trace of the beloved ex-solider.

"Have you heard the story?" John asked taking a few step along the edge using his arms for balance.

Sherlock tensed fighting the urge to run and grab John, "Can't say I have." He replied his voice shaking with the effort.

John didn't seem to notice, "I love the story! Daddy always did voices for the characters!" He then giggled.

Sherlock took in a shaky breath, clenching his fists. "Can you tell me?" He needed to keep John talking, keep him distracted.

John stopped his movement and eyed Sherlock slowly, "Daddy tells it better." He said but seemed to be considering, "Fine I'll tell it but you better not laugh." John warned giving Sherlock a stern glare to reinforce it.

Sherlock nodded, "I promise I won't laugh." He felt the furthest from a need to laugh than ever.

John being so close to death was taking its toll and Sherlock was breaking. He had just gotten the man back and it looked like he was about to lose him again. Moriarty had done something, he had somehow changed John.

"Daddy loves telling this!" John said clapping his hands excitedly before becoming serious and leaning towards the nervous man, "When Daddy was little there was a mean bully named Carl."

Sherlock held his breath.

"Carl was an evil little troll. He was green and covered in warts who had a lucky pair of shoes that he took everywhere with him." John wrinkled up with face looking disgusted, "Everyday Carl would come to Daddy. He would push and hit Daddy but no one believed Daddy, no one did anything to help Daddy so Daddy decided he would do something himself. Daddy found a magic potion that he gave to Carl, Carl drowned, and Daddy took Carl's shoes." John giggled.

Sherlock winced slightly but kept his face as blank as possible.

"I love Daddy's stories! Do you want to hear more?"

"Yes I would," Sherlock answered. He was trying to figure something out to get John off the edge, away from danger, "Could you come closer I can't hear every well?" Sherlock asked.

John glared, "You come closer." He snapped folding his arms over his chest once more.

Slowly Sherlock moved closer until he was some feet from the other man, "John did Mori…"

"Hush now I'm telling a story!" John yelled interrupting Sherlock, "Faceless Man doesn't get to talk when I am!"

Sherlock blinked in confusion but the whole situation was confusing so nothing changed.

John held an intense glare before his face relaxed and he smiled. It was an almost old John smile and Sherlock breath hitched.

"Now this part Daddy said is my part, his little hedgehog," The fond look in John's eyes was sickening, "Once there was a beautiful and intelligent otter with a blue scarf. Daddy loved to play with the otter, he would set up games for the otter and they had such fun together. One day the otter broke the rules and changed the game. Daddy didn't like that so he gave the otter one more chance."

Sherlock didn't remember how to breathe. The words coming out of John's mouth were Moriarty's. The childlike person that had become John was James back from the dead, possessing the doctor like a puppet.

"For a while the otter followed the rules and didn't cause any trouble but that didn't last long. Again the otter broke the rules so Daddy decided the otter needed to be punished." John's voice became a whisper, "The lovely little otter had a pet, a brave hedgehog. Daddy took the hedgehog and brought him here." He gestured to the roof, "And Daddy taught the hedgehog how to fly."

Sherlock stomach lurched as John swayed backwards. He didn't fall, a moment before it seemed like he would slip off the edge the doctor righted himself grinning. The grin melted and became a pout.

"I miss Daddy," John whined, "Do you know when he is coming back?"

Sherlock struggled for words, something that would keep John calm. "What did Daddy tell you the last time you saw him?" he asked.

John skewered up his face as he thought, it took a moment before he replied "He said the otter is coming for his hedgehog." Then his eyes widened and he leaned towards Sherlock looking awed, "You're the otter!" he cried gesturing dramatically at the younger man.

Sherlock forced a smile, "Yes I am the otter, John can you tell me about Daddy?"

"I love Daddy, he's nice to me, and he helps me get better when…" John stopped, his mouth hung open and he looked suddenly terrified.

Sherlock stepped closer within reaching distance but keeping his arms to his side, "When what John?" he pressed.

John shut his mouth and looked down at the other man, "I'm not allowed to say." He replied looking around.

Sherlock moved even closer, "John what has Moriarty done to you?"

John blinked a few times then started to collapse. Sherlock reacted faster than he ever had, gripping John tightly before he could fall. Pulling the doctor from the edge the detective stumbled backwards with his arms wrapped around the other man.

"I got you. It's going to be alright. I'm here, nothing is going to happen." Sherlock was muttering quietly as he fell to the ground with John on top of him.

They lay there breathing hard for several minutes.

John groaned lifting his head slowly and squinted at Sherlock in confusion. "Sherlock?" The doctor's warm voice was back as if the child had never been.

The tall man almost started crying but somehow managed to keep control of himself. "John."

"What's going on, where am I?"

Sherlock loosed his grip on the doctor a bit, "The roof of St. Bart's."

The doctor stiffened as he glanced around, "Why, what are we doing here?"

"Let's get you back inside." Sherlock said as he got to his feet and helped John stand.

The doctor was shaking and sagged into the taller man for support. "I feel like I got hit by a train." John grumbled running a hand through his hair.

"What do you remember John?" Sherlock couldn't help but ask.

The short doctor grunted as they began walking for the stairs, "Sherlock, why am I in a hospital gown?" John asked stopping.

"Let's get you inside and I'll explain everything,"

_Or try to._

Sherlock didn't see how his insight would clear up any of John's questions. The priority was getting the man inside and out of the cold that the early winter was bringing.

"Sherlock." John's voice had a hint of the captain in it and it sent a pulse through Sherlock's body.

"Inside first." The tall man insisted tugging the weak man forward.

Glaring, John reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled inside. The warmth rushed in and Sherlock realized that he was freezing. The fear from John's strange behavior had warded off the chill but now with the adrenaline gone, Sherlock's body shook from the cold.

"John," Sherlock steadied himself, "What is the last thing you remember?"

John's movements were slow as he thought. "You," Sherlock looked at him in surprise, "Well your voice, you were calling my name."

Sherlock blinked before frowning.

"I can't remember much, it took me a while to even remember you. Everything is blurry and I couldn't focus." The doctor continued, "I could hear voices and there was always pain…every time I would wake up there was pain." John fell silent.

Sherlock let his friend have that silence as they walked towards the elevator. He spotted doctors heading their way but a wave of his hand stopped them. On the lift the taller man leaned against the wall and wrapped his other arm around John and pulled him closer. The elevator slowly started downward as the two clung together.

"Why…am…I…so…cold?" John's voice chattered.

Sherlock rubbed the doctor's back, "You were on the roof a while but I suspect your body is starting to go through withdrawals."

John lifted his head from the younger man's chest, "Withdrawals?"

"Bed first." Sherlock said lightly still trying to keep their conversation at bay.

The doctor didn't argue and settled back into Sherlock's chest, shivering.

The lift's doors opened and Sherlock slowly untangled himself enough to get John supported to walk. They had a few more feet to walk before finally making it back to John's room. Sherlock helped the doctor back into bed. A nurse bustled in and reattached the machines, otherwise they were left alone.

John blinked tiredly, "What am I doing in a hospital?"

"How are you feeling?"

"I am fine Sherlock, what am I doing in a hospital?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Sherlock…"

"Water?"

"Sherlock…"

"Are you in any pain?"

"Sherlock!" John snapped, "Stop changing the subject."

Sherlock sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his eyes closed.

He didn't know where to start. He didn't know when to start. Over two years of living with this man's supposed suicide and Sherlock didn't know how to speak to him. The genius had fantasied their reunion thousands of times but instantly berated himself for being foolish. Now the impossible had presented itself and he was at a loss for words.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was quiet and gentle.

Taking in a deep breath Sherlock opened his eyes. John was smiling softly and holding out a hand. Slowly the tall man slid forward and gripped the flesh, intertwining their fingers. The connection was electric and he felt instantly better. John was here and he was alive.

"I remember falling…" John spoke, "I remember saying I love you and jumping." The smile was gone and there was pain in his eyes.

Sherlock squeezed the doctor's hand. The words stung but it was a blessing that he wouldn't have to relive that moment by retelling it. Breathing out slowly Sherlock locked eyes with his friend.

"Two years John, it's been two years."

John's face paled and his grip on Sherlock's hand tightened. The pain in his eyes intensified, "Oh God." He breathed his eyes nearing the size of saucers.

"I thought you were dead for two years…" Sherlock told him, "I watched you jump from the roof. I saw your blood on the concrete. I felt for your pulse…it wasn't there…John…" he couldn't look away from the deep blue staring back at him, "You were dead."

John pulled Sherlock forward with their linked hands. The tall man laid his head in the doctor's lap and felt fingers gliding through his hair. The fingers weren't there long but when they were pulled away John replaced them with his own head.

"I thought I was dead too. I remember hitting the ground and after that nothing. Suddenly I was alive but in lots of pain. I was told that the building hadn't been quit high enough to kill me. I spent three months recovering from broken ribs and a fractured skull. One day something changed and then darkness until I woke in the ambulance with you." John's voice was soft, almost comforting.

"You need sleep." Sherlock mumbled. John stiffened and sat up. Concerned the younger man sat up as well and looked to the doctor.

John looked terrified. "I don't want the darkness again." His voice hitched with strained emotions.

Sherlock moved to settle on the bed next to John. He wrapped his lanky limbs around the smaller man and pulled him into his chest. John nestled into Sherlock's chest, inhaling deeply.

"I'll be here. I won't leave you…never again…" Sherlock assured.

It was strange being the comforting shoulder but for John, Sherlock would do anything. He didn't feel the usual repulsion he got when it came to physical contact or emotions, not with John, never with John. With the small doctor nearby, Sherlock finally found the peace he had been searching for, the peace he had before but never realized it.

His thoughts drifted back to the roof incident. The memory sent a shiver through him. John had been acting boarder line insane but had suddenly switched to the John he knew and loved.

_Brain washed?_

It seemed to be the only possible answer Moriarty had brain washed John using pain and drugs. James had created an alternated personality in John that was a naïve child. But what had been the trigger, there had to be a trigger word of some kind.

Slight snoring against his chest told Sherlock that John had lost the fight in staying conscious. Smiling as the warmth of the other man began to sink in, Sherlock felt his body relax complete for the first time in two years. Ducking his head forward Sherlock planted a kiss on John's head.

"Sleep well my John." The tall man mumbled into the doctor's hair.

Laying back into the pillows, Sherlock tightened his hold on John and closed his eyes, following the good doctor into unconsciousness.

*Please review, I love crazy John but I want to hear what you guys thought!


	8. Not John

*Sorry for such the delay! I've been having on and off bouts of writers block plus I have about a week and a half of classes left so I'm going to be having finals, yippee :/

Have a little Mystrade for my absence and hopefully another chapter not far behind. Big thanks to my good friend Nameless_Sufferer and as always the inspiring Truly Sherlockian! You guys are amazing and keep me going!

This chapter will be through Mycroft's POV:

Mycroft stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching Lestrade.

The Detective Inspector was passed out in the middle of the bed. The lovely grey fox like hair on his head was twisted and plastered in various ways on his head. His face was slackened and took ten years from him, not that he looked old in the first place.

The elder Holmes felt his affection tighten in his chest.

Gregory had taken John's death pretty hard and Sherlock's reckless mission had done little to help the D.I. Mycroft had taken the reins in putting Lestrade's life back together and had found something more. Gregory had become steadily closer until they had meshed as lovers and now Mycroft couldn't imagine his life without the man.

John's sudden reappearance was, for lack of a better word, a shock. His broken body on the pavement had been the most damning evidence yet here he was. The good doctor had been thrown back into their lives and Mycroft had nearly watched the Detective crumble once more because of it. The visit to the hospital had solidified reality and Gregory was a brighter side of himself, one that Mycroft hadn't seen in a while.

Mycroft was at a loss for this resurrection. He had witnessed the autopsy, he had signed off on the paperwork, and he had even done everything for the funeral. The only thing that made sense would be that the man that Sherlock found was not John at all. Blood work would make that conclusion but it would be several days before that evidence came to light.

The ringing of his cell phone tore Mycroft from his musings.

"Holmes." He answered he had been expecting this call.

"Cleanup is finished sir but…" the voice on the line paused seeming to be debating whether to relay some information.

"What?" Mycroft snapped hiding the twinge of fear.

"There is no body sir, there's blood."

"Excuse me?" He had heard but he needed to hear the words again.

"There is no body." The person repeated.

"You searched the area?" Mycroft asked his mind whirling.

"Of course sir, twice."

"Well do _it_ again, you must find that body." The command was undeniable and left no room to argue.

"Right away sir." With a soft click the line went dead.

Mycroft slipped the phone into his pocket. Things had just gone further towards worse. Moriarty's body was missing and Mycroft doubted any amount of searching would turn it up. Someone had moved it.

_Who would that be? _

To Mycroft's knowledge, Sherlock had destroyed any remains of Moriarty's web over the course of the two years, leaving James as the last. Though the elder Holmes knew that there was no way to eradicate all the assets and there would always be those few who would remain loyal.

Moriarty had planned his death; he had allowed Sherlock that pleasure. As his last act he had returned John so it seemed less of a coincidence that his body just went missing. It was all planned.

Mycroft fought off the feeling that this was just the beginning; that John, or not John, was just a stepping stone towards something more. He had no doubt in his mind that it had to do with Sherlock and that his little brother was in danger. Mycroft also knew that any accusation he brought against John would be ignored and would make it more difficult for him to keep Sherlock safe. So for now he would keep his suspicions quiet and watch from the shadows as always.

"My?"

Gregory's soft voice broke through Mycroft's scheming. His vision cleared of thought and he looked to his lover.

The D.I. had rolled on to his side and was facing Mycroft with a small tired smile. "Any news?"

Moving to the bed, Mycroft sat on the edge. He pushed hair from Gregory's forehead and planted a light kiss. "No, nothing I've heard." The D.I.'s face fell, "But no news is good news, isn't it?"

Gregory gave a heavy sigh in response sliding a hand forward to grip Mycroft's thigh. "I just want him to be alright." He whispered stroking his thumb over the covered skin.

Mycroft tried to ignore the sparks dancing through his system from the light contact but Gregory caused such a reaction it was impossible.

"I know my dear," the elder Holmes murmured, "As do I." It was true, he did want John to be alright but everything he knew pointed towards the opposite.

"Has there been any word on Moriarty?" Gregory asked.

Mycroft hadn't told Lestrade, Sherlock's confession and didn't plan on it. "No my dear, I have agents searching but they have come up with nothing." It was partially true so Mycroft didn't feel too bad lying.

"Why would he do this, after two years, why now?" Gregory asked.

"I have asked that question myself," Mycroft said, "Sherlock may have been getting too close for comfort."

Gregory sat up, leaning into Mycroft. "How is John alive?"

The elder man bit the inside of his cheek debating what he should say. A moment passed before he decided.

"Are we sure he is John?" As soon as the words were out Mycroft knew he had chosen poorly.

Lestrade was silent, staring hard at the other man with a blank look. It was one of the few moments Mycroft could not read his lover and that was a sign that he had spoken wrong.

"Gregory, think for a moment, I handled all of John's affairs after his passing. I identified his body at the morgue and have blood results to prove it was John. I finalized his funeral. I saw John's body many times before his burial." He spoke quietly.

The D.I. moved from Mycroft and stood in front of him. His face slowly contorting with pent disbelief. "Two years Mycroft." The words low and threatening, "Two years he's been dead and the moment he is returned to us you think it's an imposter! You think that somehow Moriarty found a man who likes exactly like John and set him up so we would find him, for what? For some sort of after death _revenge_!"

Mycroft flinched at the words. He had never been one to be intimidated but Lestrade had a power over him especially when the D.I. was angry. He opened his mouth but Gregory was in a rant.

"It's a miracle and the only thing you can come up with to try and ruin the moment is: it's not John! You would rather John be dead then for the truth!"

"No…" Mycroft tried but Lestrade wasn't listening.

"I nearly died when my best friend jumped from and building. I nearly died again when I saw him alive and you want to spoil the moment by telling me that it's not John!"

"I'm just looking at the facts."

"Facts? The facts are that John is alive, that there is no way on this Earth that it is not John!" Gregory spun and stomped for the door.

Mycroft stood and followed, "Gregory…I." he tried but the D.I. spun back to him with a burning glare silencing him.

"No! I don't want to hear it. I don't want to know, I just…I…just want John to be alright. He needs to be alright. I need him to be alright" The last words were a plea and Mycroft watched the anger flee, leaving uncertainty.

Letting a minute drift by the elder Holmes stepped forward and slowly eased his hands on to the other man's hips. "Gregory you must know that that is all I wish for as well but…in light of the evidence…and my firsthand experience in that evidence…I cannot just ignore what I see…what I know. I want that man in the hospital to be John Watson but I cannot believe that it is until I get his blood results back."

Gregory shut his eyes and leaned into his lover, snuggling his head in the crook of Mycroft's neck. Automatically Mycroft's hands stroked down the other man's back.

"My dear all I want most in the world is for you to be happy." The elder man murmured, "But I can't just let what I see as facts go."

Gregory drew his head back, "I understand, I do but I feel it is John. I know that sounds strange but I know it is him." He sighed laying his head back on the other's man's shoulder, "I'm sorry for my outburst."

Mycroft squeezed his lover to him, "Nothing to apologize for my dear, I assure you." He said enjoying the steady warmth seeping into him.

"Can we go back to the hospital?" Gregory asked, "It's been at least five hours something must have happened."

Mycroft hummed in disapproval, "I would insist you get more rest but I doubt you will listen to me." Lestrade chuckled listing his head to plant a lingering kiss on the other man's mouth before trailing down his long neck.

"You know me so well." Gregory said between kisses.

Mycroft was shaking with withheld encouragement. "If you continue to do that we will not make it out of this house for another few hours." He said with effort, his fingers digging into his lover's back slightly.

Lestrade laughed as he moved back from the other man, letting his hand slid down until their fingers intertwined. "Let's go see the good doctor."


End file.
